Latent Feelings
by 23tryintomakeachange
Summary: Deanon from kink meme. "Francis comforts Al," some sweet and fluffy FrUs. Now updated!


Better warnings and whatnot are on my tumblr, so if you'd like a better description and context you can head there (the url is in my profile).

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"Do you ever find that it's all too much?"

The gravity and randomness of the question startled Francis as he lazily sipped his wine, lounging on a sofa. He had just been discussing diplomatic matters with Alfred (just like their bosses were in a more formal setting) earlier that day, and he invited him to stay at his Paris home for the rest of the week. Wanting that Al experience some proper French culture, he insisted that he partake in the pastime of casual drinking and conversation. Although, Francis couldn't help but notice how quickly his younger guest was packing his wine away.

In attempt to keeping the conversation relatively light, Francis feigned ignorance to the depth of the American's question. "What do you mean, mon ami?"

"The pressure. It drives me crazy. I feel like all I do is fuck everything up. It's like I always do the wrong thing and everyone hates me for it," Alfred explained with a semi-flushed face.

Francis almost couldn't believe his ears as he did his best to hold in his scoffing laughter, while Alfred continued to vent. _No shit, Sherlock_; Francis wanted to say.

"It's bad enough that my politics are universally unpopular (even I don't like them!)—but _I'm_ even worse! I'm too loud, I'm too shallow, I'm too self-centered, I'm fat, I'm stupid, I'm obnoxious—and no one lets me forget it. Or even sugar coats it…" he trailed off for a moment, not daring to look at Francis. "There are so many times that I just want to disappear. Fade away. Be forgotten. If they hate that I'm always in the spotlight, then why do they constantly put me in it? Even my domestic affairs gain international attention!"

Alfred's voice had gained volume at this point, and Francis noticed the making of tears at the front of Alfred's eyes. He hung his head low and looked down onto his lap. Francis began to have less and less laughter to hold in as he continued to listen.

"I've usually been able to tune the negativity out, but recently I've been thinking about all the mistakes I've made, and I can't help but be disappointed in myself. And if I've disappointed myself, who knows how many others have suffered because of my poor judgment? So I can't help but take their grievances to heart… Maybe it would be better if I did fade away. Maybe the world would be a much better place if I never became a nation." At this, those tears began their descent down their host's sun-kissed cheeks. He tried to continue his rant-revelation, but the only sound that Francis could hear were the pained, devastating sobs that Alfred couldn't help but let out. He scrunched up his eyes closed and rather tightly to prevent new tears from forming and rubbed his face with his hands, but his efforts to calm down were in vain. His face was a rose in full bloom—consumed by a delicate rosy hue, lips inflamed and pouty, eyes glassy, cheeks full and puffy—Francis couldn't believe the sight before his eyes. Dry heaving and heavy breathing, Alfred buried his face in his arms.

And in that moment, Francis' body was on autopilot, his mind frozen in shock. He made his way over to Alfred. Sitting next to the dishwater blond garçon, he awkwardly and tentatively placed his arms lightly around the hunched-over nation. He then scooped up the crying teen and placed him onto his lap in a pseudo bridal-style position. Also acting on instinct, Alfred turned to face him and burrowed his head in the crook of the Frenchman's shoulder and neck, nuzzling him like a little kitten. One of his arms hung loosely off of Francis' shoulder in an attempt to wrap around his neck, while the other was bent at the elbow, hand resting on the other side of Francis' chest that his neck wasn't occupying. Likewise, Francis had one arm around the other's waist and the other cradling his head, gently pressing it to the American's preferred hiding spot, while soothingly stroking his hair. He couldn't help but feel that this position felt so _right._ Laughing at the superpower in his arms suddenly became the very last thing on Francis' agenda. He suddenly realized how harsh he was on the teen. Not even a country for three hundred years and in such a demanding position. He remembered himself at Al's age, and shuddered at the thought of being in the other's shoes. Quite honestly, he would hate to have such responsibility—even with all of the experience that he had now. A wave of empathy for the American rushed through him. _How could he be the land of l'amour if his actions help cause someone to want to die?!_ He prided himself on being compassionate and understanding, and he's allowed the world's strongest power to break down right in front of him. Usually, he would be all too happy at the notion of Alfred crying like a child before his very eyes. But seeing the young man so vulnerable and hearing the reasoning behind it only caused _his_ heart to ache. Instead of basking in the other's suffering, gloating in his pain and laughing at the other's insecurities, he felt a profound sense of content and belonging from holding the other close and drying up his tears.

With this, Francis' brain melted from its frozen state and he began cooing at the boy, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. He further comforted him by compassionately "shhhhh-ing" him to soften his sobs, while the hand that was on Alfred's waist moved to start rubbing his back. This continued for quite awhile until Al stopped crying. After taking a few moments to fully recover, Alfred tensed when he realized the position that he was in, his head clear enough to realize the severity of his actions. His head shot up with an unfamiliar expression gracing his face before he practically leapt out of Francis' protective and comforting hold. Once his eyes met Francis' they narrowed. He then spoke indignantly, "go ahead, laugh at me. Do it, I want you to. Actually, why don't you tweet about it so the whole world can know how pathetic I am! We all know how much you'd love that, exposing how wretched or whatever I am... I know that you hate me, so quit trying to be polite or something and stop hiding it!"

Francis only blankly stared back at him, waiting for Alfred to finish his garb. "Non," he replied once the garcon finished his proposition. "I have no desire to laugh at you, and the only person such a tweet would bring shame on would be me, not you."

Alfred looked back at him with a look of disbelief. He opened up his mouth to speak again, but Francis beat him to it. "Amerique," he started off in a serious tone, "yes, the world would be a lot different if you were gone, if you were never here, or if you never became a nation like you mentioned earlier… But that doesn't mea necessarily mean that it would be better. I personally think that the world would be a lot worse off without you, mon cher."

Alfred gazed at him with the most innocent and purely hopeful eyes that Francis had ever seen. "Really—you actually think that?!" he asked tentatively.

"Oui," Francis replied with a small, satisfied smile on his face. _An exaggeration, yes,_ Francis thought to himself. _But the way those blue eyes of his lit up, it was worth it._

"And believe it or not," Francis started again, "I don't hate you. I don't think that I ever could. For, we are more alike than I think that either of us would care to admit, non?" Alfred studied him with careful eyes, but didn't make a move to stop him. So Francis continued, "jealous, maybe. But certainly not hatred. Yes, I was certainly fed up with you as you say during the whole Americanization process. However, I must have forgotten that I was once an empire too. It appears as though the old imperials don't like being colonized, non?" He chuckles as he thinks about the last century. "Ah, how I spread my culture and language everywhere too, once upon a time. Some of your founding fathers were real Francophiles, non? Jefferson and Franklin, I believe..." Francis pauses to reestablish eye contact with the younger nation before continuing. "I must confess, I've been rather harsh on you over the years. But unlike Britain, I can admit to you that I am indeed proud. Proud of you, mon cher. I stood by your side as you fought for your freedom and you eventually stormed the most heavily guarded beaches to save me at Normandy, and then you helped stabilize Europe through your generosity after the fact. Don't forget, mon petit lapin, if we had listened to you and your Woodrow during Versailles, we probably could've prevented that second war. No one is perfect, mon couer. But don't forget all of your accomplishments and good deeds, non?" Francis orders him in a serious tone. "You have a heart of gold, the heart of an idealist, a dreamer. It is a pity that the cruel realities of the world and society have tarnished your words, bruised your spirit, damaged your soul. I remember during your revolution when you would babble onto me about how you were going to have this utopian society, but instead you were left with the remnants of colonization and the Rosbif Empire. You are worth so much more than that..." He trails off and blushes, almost forgetting that the New Worlder, is indeed, right next to him.

Alfred flushed and felt an odd, warm sensation in his chest at hearing the other's words. He had never experienced anything like this before. The two looked at each other for almost an uncomfortable amount of time. And in that time, they both realized something important about the other.

_Francis is actually a really nice, great person at the core…an quite handsome—what?!_

_Alfred is absolutely adorable… More importantly—I care much more about him than I thought I would. Not only that, but the thought of someone caring for my Alfred like I had pisses me off more than Angleterre's god-awful scones. Wait—_my _Alfred?!_

Breaking the silence, Alfred gave Francis an incredibly sheepish, but sincere apology for his behavior and declaration of his gratitude. The older nation uncharacteristically flushed at the younger's words, but gave him a knowing smile in return. He then leaned over, and pressed his lips to Alfred's. Surprised (but not disgusted,) by the sudden contact, he stilled for a few moments before returning the kiss to the best of his abilities: clumsily moving his lips against the Frenchman's, throwing his arms around his neck and pressing his chest to Francis'.

Pleased with Alfred's level of enthusiasm, Francis took full control. He gladly pulled Alfred closer to him and began to lean back so that he was lying on the loveseat. They continued kissing until they were both completely out of breath. Panting and overwhelmed by what just happened, Alfred soon fell asleep in Francis' hold. When he heard the little snores (that he admittedly found to be irresistibly cute) coming from the nation in his arms, he simply smiled, shook is head, and pulled him closer. For once, Francis didn't gauge how much groping he could get away with, but simply content to just enjoy this instance of pure, unadulterated closeness.


End file.
